


You Made a Slow Disaster Out of Me

by textbookMobster



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Past Drug Use, Sad Fluff, Sadstuck, all the references, also: Yang&Pyrrha, alternative universe, endgame: YangxBlake, tw: suicide mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/textbookMobster/pseuds/textbookMobster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yang and Pyrrha have been working in the shadows for years as double agents for HQ, hunting for the leader of a red sand distributor.  But the task at hand has taken its toll on Yang. </p><p>She is done being chased by her friends and loved ones. (They didn't know.)</p><p>She is done feeling guilty over her relationship with Pyrrha. (<i>Dusts,</i> but she still loved Blake.)</p><p>She is done. Watching. (He is right fucking there, prancing pretty as he pleased—the asshole responsible for her fall from grace.)</p><p>But the people in her life are not so willing to give up on her. Maybe, just maybe, she'll be alright after all.</p><p>A comfort fic in 5 parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not have been finished if not for [dreamer3life](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamer3life/pseuds/dreamer3life) who read the drafts and cheered me on, and for my moirail, whose support I'll always treasure. Thank you.

Yang eased out of the tiny cot, slivers of moonlight revealing bare flesh. She stood on calloused feet and stared down at her companion, tracing her patrician features and fiery red hair with an aching fondness.

The scene was a familiar one.

It always started with—

Pyrrha helping her undress. Glowing hands that probed. (She’d been clean for months, but the precaution was necessary all the same.) A brief flash of vulnerability—Yang in her undergarments, Pyrrha tracing the scar across her stomach, the message there: _I will not let you come to harm again._  And the answer in Yang’s miserable gaze: _She didn’t know; she wouldn’t have hurt me otherwise._  Lingering touches. And then—

She forced herself to move towards the small adjoining bathroom. With the cool water trickling down her spine, she imagined those phantom kisses mapping her skin being washed away. Even now, months after they had started their strange courtship, she still felt a stab of guilt, thinking about what could have been.

But the life of a double agent was rarely a happy one, and Yang hadn’t agreed to this job if she hadn’t been willing to sacrifice everything that had been dear to her.

It helped that there wasn’t much for her to go back to.

She dabbed some oil behind her ears, the scent of it mimicking the infamous drug that pervaded the narrow streets of Gazth-Sonika. She threw a short jacket over her shoulders and left a note on the kitchen counter.

Under the pre-dawn light, local shops were just beginning to stir, preparing the day’s merchandise with sluggish, sleepy slowness. Yang ambled towards her usual haunt, the Crow’s Nest, a mahjong parlour turned bar and, unironically, a centre of pirate activity.

She kicked the door open and walked down the steps, nodding at a startled Amos, who was ready to pummel his imagined intruder with a two by four.

“Hit me,” Yang said, sliding on top of one of the barstools.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Amos fought back a yawn. He stomped behind the bar, reached for a glass and filled it with tap water. “On the house.”

“Hardly my choice of liquor,” Yang said, though she took the offered drink.

“Try coming back when we’re actually open,” Amos grumbled. “Then maybe I’ll humour you.”

Yang stared into the depths of her glass. If the light of the seedy bar was any better, she might have seen the reflection of her rust-red eyes, scrutinizing her back. As it was, the water was refractorily unromantic, and chose to stay a murky, boring brown. "Do you believe in luck?"

Amos shifted and frowned. "I run a mahjong parlour. What do you think?"

"You also harbour pirates who cheat at everything that they can get away with."

He shrugged turtle-like, which was an amusing image to bring to mind, since it matched his turtle-slow patience. "Then when the odds are against you, cheat. You're among thieves and murderers, kid. Nobody survives this dump without breaking a few rules."

"I don't think I can cheat myself out of this one."

She left the bar with those ominous words hanging in the air, and a slip of paper meant for her partner, should the redhead come looking. Amos watched her go, and had a sinking feeling that she was heading for a place where no lighthouse could ever bring her home.

* * *

Pyrrha should have been ready when the first of their persistent trackers finally found their newest safehouse. She was quick to put on her undergarments while the metal of her usual attire swooped in from a nearby chair, prepared in advance for emergencies such as this. Jaune gave an undignified yelp when Akoúo̱ slammed just past his head: a warning. "Leave us alone," she said, putting Miló between her and her former partner.

"I've been briefed," Jaune said, stepping into the light. There was a motley of bruises from his neck downwards and superficial wounds that peppered what skin Pyrrha could see. "Pyrrha, do you know where Yang went?"

Akoúo̱ jerked from the wall, leaving dust and debris as it returned to its master. Green that reminded Jaune of the forests back in Vale, seemed to look through him, seeking his true intent. "I'm sorry," Pyrrha said, the two words making Jaune flinch. He couldn't remember a time when she spoke to him as if she treaded on broken glass. Before he could react, she had smashed through the nearest window, using the rooftops to lengthen the distance between them.

"Weiss, she's heading your way," he said through the comm link, and gave chase.

Even with the combined power of teams JNPR and RWBY, Pyrrha proved an able fugitive. If not for her partner-in-crime noticeably missing, they might not have trapped her amongst the towering masts by the harbour where one of their getaway vehicles had been stowed. She knelt before them now, Blake's many ribbons binding her in place.

Ruby, always the kindest of their graduating year, was the first to step forward, pulling a startled Pyrrha in her arms. "You _idiots_ ," she whispered in Pyrrha's ear.

Ren, who knew better than to beat around the bush, came forward with his Scroll. At the very top of the screen was the Hunter Association seal. And underneath . . .

Pyrrha's eyes widened a fraction. _So they know._

"Pyrrha." Jaune. It was so surreal, living in this moment, watching the man she once loved look at her again with compassion. Concern. When was the last time any of them looked at her with such kind eyes? "Yang might be in danger. We need to know where she went."

_And why should I believe you?_  she wanted to ask. But also, _Has our cover been blown?_  Relief and suspicion warred inside her, made her stomach churn with uncertainty. "The drug. She's been clean for months now. Whatever you might think, she's not"—broken, volatile—"a danger to herself."

"We think she might have gotten desperate," said Ruby in a voice that quivered. "I—"

"It's our fault." Blake said from behind her. She twisted to face the other woman, and traced the scar on Blake's left cheek, one which Pyrrha herself had inflicted. "We thought we were doing the right thing."

"Ain't we just." Nora crouched next to her, Magnhild nestled comfortably against a shoulder. "But we fucked it up, didn't we? Made things worse for you. Now Yang's looking to play the hero in some suicide mission. And all because she was done being chased."

"She shouldn't have gone without me. We were a team."

"Yes." Blake loosened the ribbons that constricted her. "And we could be again. But we need your help."

Pyrrha fought to quell the rising anger in her chest as she struggled to her feet. She knew Blake meant well but her words _hurt_  and she wanted nothing more than to lay claim to what was hers—what felt hers. But Yang had always loved Blake first, even after everything that had happened.

In the light of that sobering thought, what else could she do but step aside? "I have an idea."

* * *

Yang had been doing pretty well before everything went to shit. Blacklist Huntresses made steady money if you knew where to go, and with Blake as her partner, there was little she couldn't do. But she'd angered the wrong people. That's how it always started. And in mere seconds everything had been taken away from her.

It was ironic then that the very drug that had started it all would be what killed her in the end. Red sand in her bloodstream. A man had burned to death that fateful night because her Aura had gone out of control. Today, it would burn an empire.

She roared, the sound like the howl of an injured animal, and rushed towards the centre of the warehouse. That was where villains waited, cocksure of their own immortality. She didn't bother with the man's minions—she wasn't after wholesale slaughter—but those who _did_  get in the way . . . she felt no remorse in killing them.

It had felt exhilarating once to be able to fight like this without restraint, but there was no denying the truth of her actions. She'd come here to kill a man. It hardly seemed right to celebrate such violence.

"Yang Xiao Long." Even years later, the sight of Roman Torchwick's gloating form still sent shivers down Yang's spine. "I wondered when you would come for me."

"I am going to make you scream," she snarled.

"Kinky, kinky. But you're not my type, luv." Her vision was beginning to blur—a side effect of the red sand—but she could still tell where he was; he did like to talk. "Now the redhead?" He hummed in approval. "I'd love to see her squirm."

Ember Celica was hot—practically burning against her skin. She dodged a bullet from his cane, released Ember Celica from its bindings, and threw the gauntlet at Torchwick, catching him off guard. She parried a wild swing from his cane and sent him crashing to the ground with a sweep kick, moving fluidly from form to form with the ease of a veteran Huntress. The floor shattered from the sheer force of her Aura as she brought a fist down.

By then, he'd already retreated, though not before she'd managed to break his left leg.

"Yang!" Dark tendrils—ribbons, her fuzzy brain supplied—wrapped around her limbs just as she was about to deliver the killing blow. Torchwick, still under the immense pressure of her Aura, slumped to the ground, breathing erratically.

"You don't need to keep fighting anymore." Words from a woman who had given her nothing but love. They tore against her skin and bone, claws sinking into her beating heart. She cried then, tears washing away the blood that covered a gaunt face.

_Dusts._

She was prepared to die. Had been since Jaune had confronted her just days before, asking questions she couldn't answer. But here, surrounded by the people she loved, she couldn't bring herself to hurt them one last time.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining on the day that Yang was discharged from the hospital.

The steady drizzle reminded Ruby of lazy days spent back home in Patch, reading books on the sofa while Yang dozed, her long legs resting over Ruby's lap. She missed the gentle pitter-patter of water coming from the leaking roof, Zwei barking joyously outside, leaping over every puddle that he could find. (He always did enjoy showing off.) She missed the scent of cleaning solvent mixing with the rain, the sight of Crescent Rose neatly disassembled next to Ember Celica, and Yang whispering soft instructions while gentle hands guided her. She thought of those peaceful days, and wondered if she could ever have them again with Yang by her side.

She caught Weiss's eye peering from the rearview mirror, and snuggled closer next to Yang's dozing form, relaxing against her.

Yang slept differently these days. She had never been a light sleeper during their time in the Academy, but life on the run had changed that. Maybe things would have been different if they listened to Ozpin. Maybe Yang would have been happier if they hadn't tried to bring her back.

"Don't strain your brain too much," said Weiss from the driver's seat. "Thinking isn't exactly your strong suit."

"I think just fine," Ruby grumbled. "Meanie."

"Still arguing like a married couple, I see," Yang murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Ruby laughed and hid her blushing face against Yang's shoulder. "As if I have a chance. Weiss's type is tall, dark, and charming unfortunately."

"Weiss, you useless lesbian." Yang sighed, resting a calloused hand on Ruby's head. "Still haven't told her? And here I was about to demand grandkids."

"Tell me what?" Ruby asked, just as Weiss said, "How would we even have children?"

When no answer was forthcoming, Ruby straightened up and found Yang staring outside the window, a troubled expression on her face. "Does Blake hate me?"

Weiss parked the hatchback on the driveway next to a modest townhouse. "You really don't know?"

"She visited you every day." Ruby stepped out of the car and smiled at Weiss, who was already there with an umbrella. "I think she read her favourite book to you, sometimes."

"Oh. I thought that was—" Yang clenched her jaw shut. She followed them silently into the house, shoulders hunched—guarded.

"Pyrrha came once or twice," Weiss said all too casually. "She's had to submit a few reports, do a psych evaluation: mostly standard stuff for a deep cover Huntress. I'm sure once HQ has loosened their claws on her she'll come and give you a proper visit."

"I'd like that."

"Your bedroom is just down the hall," Weiss said, back to business. "Our room is across from yours so if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"So you sleep in the same room but you don't bang each other? Talk about iron self-control, Weiss." Yang's lips curled in a brief smirk.

"Say one more word," Weiss snarled, "and I will—"

"Kill me? Yeah, I've heard that one before."

Ruby stepped forward just in front of Weiss, who looked ready to strangle Yang. "I know I get grouchy when I don't get my eight hours. Come on, Yang. Let me show you your room so you can settle in. Maybe take a nap?"

"I know the way." Yang left for her room before Ruby could think of a reply.

She let out a miserable whine and waved her hands at Yang's retreating back, telegraphing her helplessness. It had been so much easier to read Yang before. Her older sister had never tried to keep her emotions close to her chest, like a poker player with a bad hand. And her eyes . . . .

"What was that about anyway?" she hissed, giving Weiss the full force of her glare.

"Yang's just meddling with your love life." Weiss dragged Ruby to the kitchen where she kept her stash of herbal tea. (She preferred coffee, but was trying to quit; it wasn't going very well.) "It's irritating. Think nothing of it."

"You mean she's meddling with yours."

Weiss handed Ruby a glass of milk before returning to the upper cabinets where numerous cans of tea were stored. "I had forgotten how antagonizing she can be."

"Would it really be so bad to be with me?" Ruby asked while she watched her partner pull out her beloved coffee machine from behind a row of tea containers standing in mock defiance. "I mean, I think you're pretty and you care about being a Huntress as much as I do, and I enjoy training with you which is always a plus. Oh, and our dates would be super exciting like infiltrating rogue organizations—"

Weiss stopped mid-preparation. "No."

"Oh." Ruby tried not to look disappointed. She drained her glass and set it aside. "That's fine too I guess."

"No, no." Weiss left the coffee machine running and focused on putting away the rest of the clutter on the counter. (She always did like to keep her hands busy when she was nervous.) "I mean. I'd rather have boring restaurant dates with you, if that's all the same. They're easier to plan."

_Oh._

Weiss's kiss was chaste and unpractised, but so very bold and sweet all at once. It was a kiss that caught Ruby by surprise, though Weiss had made her intention obvious enough, touching her with aching slowness. "Is that acceptable?"

"Silly," Ruby whispered against Weiss's skin, lips pressing softly against her neck. "It's perfect."

* * *

"Trouble in paradise?" Yang asked in the darkness of the guest bedroom—Yang's room now, bare as it was for the moment.

As a teenager, Ruby might have launched herself on top of Yang, personal boundaries be damned. Instead, she sat beside her sister, far enough that she didn't intrude but close enough to offer comfort. She found one of Yang's large hands and held on. "How did you know? That Weiss liked me?"

Yang laughed, short and bitter. "How could I not? She was so angry at me after I . . . defected. And the way she looked at you? It's kinda all there."

There were no telltale scars on Yang's wrist. It made Ruby wonder about Yang's state of mind, but she didn't dare hope that things were better now—that things could simply go back to the way they used to be. "I wasn't angry." Her ears burned at the sudden admission. _Real smooth there, Ruby. That's exactly what she needs to hear right now._ "Okay, I guess I was for a little while. Mostly I was scared and confused. I wanted to fix things but I didn't know how."

"You shouldn't have to." Yang's voice was rough, pained. "You were my responsibility and I fucked up."

"I'm not a kid anymore."

"I know. But you're still my younger sister." Yang pulled her closer until they lay side by side on the small bed. "We used to sleep together, do you remember?"

"You were a big scaredy cat!" Ruby grinned at the memory.

"I was. I still am." Eyes that reminded Ruby of the Grimm shone from just an arm's length away. What kind of nightmares haunted Yang's waking days that the iris of her eyes bled red?

"What are you afraid of?"

Yang's face twisted in a mask of grief. It took a moment for Ruby to process that her older sister was crying. With clumsy limbs, she reached for Yang, her own vision blurred by a sudden onslaught of tears. It hurt. _Dusts_ did it hurt. But she didn't know what to do except to cling to Yang, to this woman who had been nothing but a source of comfort throughout the years: her sister, mother, and confidant.

They fell asleep like this, helpless in their shared misery, crying over intangible, messy fears, and the things that could have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Yang is a much better matchmaker in this fic than Weiss and Ruby in Little Dragon.


	3. Chapter 3

Weiss absolutely hated lazy days.

Not that she was completely out of work; there was always paperwork to finish, and Hunters-in-training to terrify. But it wasn't enough, all things considered. She just. Hated not having anything to do.

She had been busy for so long that the return to normalcy was like being dragged into limbo. There were no more cold trails to chase—no leads to follow. Between hunting for Yang and Pyrrha, and missions from HQ, rest seemed like a far away thing, a luxury she couldn't afford.

And now she had plenty. "Cool your heels, princess." She shot Yang an icy look and made a scooting motion. "Okay fine. Better than watching you wear the rug," Yang muttered. She tucked her legs in and gestured to the space beside her. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

_I'm bored._ Not that Weiss would admit it to Yang. Instead, she said, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"We can't all be busybodies like you, Weiss." Yang slumped back, rubbing tired eyes. "Of course, I'd rather be doing something myself, but I'm not exactly fit for duty now, am I?" The rest of the implication hung awkwardly in the air, like some kind of grandmother underwear Weiss liked to use when she preferred comfort over style.

"They can't keep you off the active duty roster forever, Yang." Empty reassurances in the end. "If they try, I'll . . . escalate."

"My hero." Yang gave her a tired half-smile. "You're cute, you know that?"

Weiss froze mid-scorn and turned to stare at Yang, looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights. "If this is some kind of weird come-on, just—no. One Rose-Xiao Long sister is my limit, thank you ever so much."

"I'd forgotten this side of you." Her tone was soft, wistful. "Weiss so serious?"

" _Please._ We're not teenagers anymore, Yang. Cut it with the puns already."

"You know it's just practice, Weiss. If they strip me of my Huntress rank, I can at least take a stab at comedy."

"At the very least, you excel at black humour." Weiss snapped her Scroll open, glared at the empty screen and snapped it shut in the same fluid motion.

"Bored?" There was an edge to her question. It took Weiss a moment to realize that it was desperation.

So she wasn't the only one who was feeling restless.

Weiss wasn't like Ruby, who could offer comfort as easily as breathing air. Her own sister was a distant figure, and though they loved each other just as fiercely, they expressed that love in different ways.

She lifted a hand to touch Yang's arm and hesitated. "Have you ever considered teaching?"

A flicker of amusement in those rust red eyes. "My dad used to teach, back when we were still living in Patch. Bit of a hardass, you know?" She rubbed her nose, avoiding Weiss's gaze. "Next to him, I'm not exactly—"

"Ideal?" She gave Yang an awkward pat. "Hey. You can't be as bad as Professor Port at least."

"Right, right. You do know that if I go into teaching I'll be every teenage boy's wet dream? Doesn't matter if I'm interested or not. I'll be like a sexier version of Professor Port." His roving eye had been no secret, even among the staff.

"I chased you for years, Yang. If anyone has experience worth sharing, it's you."

"And my experience with red sand?"

"Part of the job description."

"Ooh, ouch." Yang rested against her, a warm weight that made Weiss tense. "I'm not made of glass, Princess. I know a pretty answer when I hear one. I took that drug willingly because I was sick and tired of hiding. Because—" She faltered.

Weiss really was terrible at offering comfort. But. She had to try.

Yang held her like she was a lifeline, fingers digging into her shoulder blades. She shook, struggling not to cry—not to crumple completely into Weiss's arms. There would be no tears, Weiss knew, no wet patches on her shirt, or snotty noses, or red-rimmed eyes. Yang had always been a fighter, and while she might allow herself to be vulnerable to her sister, to the only kind of home that still made sense to her, sometimes what she also needed was an equal—one who saw more than just the broken pieces.

* * *

At least filing the paperwork for Yang gave her something to do.

"Any plans this weekend, Weiss?" Jaune asked, lounging by a nearby water dispenser. He was off-duty—they all were—but that didn't stop him from showing up at HQ from time to time.

"If you must know, Ruby and I are going to a violin concert on Saturday."

Jaune's eyes lit up. "Someone's got a date," he said in a singsong voice.

She swatted him as she passed by. "Don't you start. Anyway, have you seen Pyrrha?"

"Cafeteria, probably. Heard her meeting this morning ran late." He offered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. So Yang wasn't the only one hurting.

"Is she . . . adjusting?"

"Is Yang?" Jaune asked pointedly.

_She's your responsibility,_ Weiss wanted to say but didn't. They were in this together, right from the very start, and if Jaune couldn't help Pyrrha on his own, well. "I'll see what I can do."

"Ominous words," he teased. "Say hi to Yang for me."

HQ's cafeteria was pretty terrible if you were a repeat offender. The coffee was always just below scalding, and their sandwiches were greasy and unmemorable. They sold noodles on Thursdays that were more broth than meat, and their selection of salads were unreasonably expensive.

It was no wonder then that Weiss found it disgusting—the sight of Pyrrha biting into her panini as if it was her last meal on Earth. "Please tell me you were desperate."

"I'm desperate?" Pyrrha asked, wiping her lips with a paper napkin.

"If I knew you were resorting to cafeteria food, I'd have packed you a lunch."

"I'm fine, Mother."

"So," Weiss sat across from Pyrrha and watched her nibble at her food. "You and Yang. You've been sleeping together since—?" Ah. Pyrrha's fierce blush and even fiercer glare confirmed her suspicions. It was easy enough to connect the dots from there. "Pyrrha, if you're avoiding Yang because you think that you're getting in the way somehow . . . ." She shook her head. "Please don't? This is unnecessary drama and—"

"I'm doing what's best for Yang." Pyrrha sighed and pushed her tray away. "Blake's her partner, not me. What we had was a _distraction_. Just two lonely people looking for comfort. Now that things are better, she can be with the woman she actually loves."

"Stop fooling yourself, Pyrrha. You're still in love with her."

"I—"

"And don't bother lying. I can detect bullshit."

"I don't know how I feel. I guess I do love her?" Pyrrha's shoulders sagged. "Mostly I miss having her around. I just don't want to get hurt. I mean, I don't want _her_ to get hurt. That, and I don't want to be reminded that I'm not exactly the person she needs right now."

"You're working with a lot of assumptions here, Pyrrha."

"Like a certain someone I know?" And there was that spark of fire at last. Weiss didn't enjoy playing bad cop, especially against someone she once considered her best friend, but she had to make sure that Pyrrha was still willing to fight for herself. "It's just better if I stay out of the way."

Now if only she could be convinced to fight for herself _more_. "Okay. Let's pretend for the moment that uh, Blake doesn't exist—sorry, Blake."

"Apology accepted."

Weiss stopped mid-rant and craned her neck up, catching amber eyes staring at her curiously. "Oh, Blake. Your timing is—"

"Impeccable?"

"Troublesome." Weiss caught Pyrrha's wrist. "Stay." To Blake she said, "Well, we might as well hit two birds with one stone. Sit." Blake obeyed, eyebrows slightly raised.

"Is this really necessary, Weiss?" Pyrrha asked, rubbing her wrist.

"I'm staging an Intervention," she said firmly, capital letters and all. "As I was saying. If you had the chance, do you _want_ to be in a romantic relationship with Yang?"

"No," Pyrrha said all too quickly. "And I'm not just saying that because Blake is here."

"I don't own her, Pyrrha. Who she decides to love is up to her."

Blake meant well, but Weiss _knew_ people. Could read their body language since she was old enough to attend her father's elaborate dinner parties. "And if she chose Pyrrha?"

"That's a little unfair, isn't it?" They squirmed under her gaze, like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"I just want Yang to be happy."

Blake gave the redhead a soft, sad smile. "Me too, Pyrrha. Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Weiss's mind, picking fights and fixing things are synonymous. (ง •̀_•́)ง


	4. Chapter 4

Yang had always been the charismatic one.

When Blake and Yang still ran Hunts together, she often let her partner do most of the talking. People were hard, especially the ones who sneered at her Faunus heritage, and she was terrible at conversation—never saw the point in them unless she needed the information.

But Yang had left and she didn't want a new partner. So she had to make do. Learned to talk to the locals, find common ground, and endear herself to them.

Now that Yang was back though, a part of her wanted to fall into old patterns—to defer to Yang who had always been so much better at expressing how she felt. She missed Yang, the constancy of her presence like a palm-sized star that she kept close to her chest. If things had been different, maybe she could have been bolder. Maybe she could have told Yang how she felt before everything had fallen apart.

Of course, if she had _believed_ in Yang to begin with, or if HQ had chosen her over Pyrrha as Yang's handler . . . .

_No point in dwelling over what-ifs._ Pyrrha had been the logical choice. She was coolheaded in a fight, and she didn't have Blake's colourful history as an agent of the White Fang.

_And obviously, she's as loyal as they come._

There was an ugly beast rearing its head inside her, feeding on her fear and her jealousy. It eyed Pyrrha the way a predator might eye a rival, and it made her sick with shame. She loved Yang. Couldn't imagine losing her a second time. But she might have to for the sake of Yang's happiness.

_Well?_ The voice in her head was distinctly Weiss-like. _Go and talk to her, you fool. And visit Yang while you're at it._

"Do you want to"—great; her voice was cracking already—"visit Yang? I'm sure she misses you too."

"I hated you for the longest time." She'd been prepared to hear the words, but it still hit her like a left hook to her blindside.

"I understand," Blake wanted to say, but her throat was scratchy and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She would not. Break down.

"You meant the world to Yang. You still do." Pyrrha leaned forward to touch the scar she'd given Blake with gentle fingers. "Even after you hurt her, she was so ready to forgive you. I thought, 'how could I possibly stand in the way of that?' So I've learned to let go." She turned her hand palm up: a gesture of peace. "Weiss is right though. I do still love Yang. But—I mean you probably wouldn't believe me—but I think I'd be content with just having her be a part of my life."

"You don't need to sugarcoat things for me."

"What do you want me to say?" Pyrrha asked sharply. "'Yes, I had sex with her?' I hated you because I was afraid you would take her away from me. I was afraid that you'd only see what we had before. I don't want to be a part of her life, if—this is stupid."

Blake grabbed her hand and held on, uncertainty and anger clashing in her chest. "Tell me. I want to understand."

"I don't want to feel like an outsider. I don't want to be under constant scrutiny just because we had a past together. The reality of our"—she frowned and tapped her fingers, searching for the right words to say—"situation is that I'm the ex and if I stuck around it would just complicate things." She gave Blake a sad, trembling smile. "I'll stay away. Consider it my apology for hurting you."

"And if"—it was a terrible idea but she had to ask—"if we were all willing to share, would that. Would that make you happy?"

Pyrrha laughed. "I _would_ like to share, but not like this. I'm not interested in intimacy, Blake. Not with Yang, not with anyone. Not for a while." Pyrrha's expression was distant—one that Blake had grown accustomed to, whenever she saw Yang from afar. It was the look of a survivor. "Being chased for years makes you a little claustrophobic."

* * *

The expression on Yang's face was a different kind of guarded. "Hey, Blake. Pyrrha." She glanced at their linked hands and opened the door, stepping aside. "Sorry the place is a mess. I wasn't expecting visitors."

"We uh—"

"We should have sent you a message," Pyrrha interjected. "We were just . . ."

"Preoccupied." They found seats on opposite armchairs—Blake curled fully into hers, while Pyrrha perched at the edge of her seat, avoiding Yang's gaze.

"Do you want drinks? That's still the protocol for receiving guests, right?" Yang folded her arms and shifted her weight from foot to foot. "I bet it's a step above getting attacked at least."

Now that she was here, Blake wasn't sure how to start the conversation. She hugged her knees and settled for, "With your permission, I'd like to court you." She flushed and hid her face. Why did that sound so much nicer on paper?

But Yang was suddenly sitting next to her on the small armchair, laughing a little breathlessly and pulling her close, strong arms encircling her in a warm embrace. It's "Welcome home," and "I missed you," and "I'll keep you safe," all at once. _Someday,_ she thought, clinging to Yang's lean body, _perhaps I might be worthy of your forgiveness._

"And here I was bracing for the worst," Yang murmured. "I had almost forgotten how much of a dork you are. Was that a quote from a book?"

It was.

"Maybe I should have started with something that made a little more sense," Blake said. "I wanted to know where we stood—if there was even a chance that I could fix things between us. I guess I thought I could get away with something that was supposed to sound romantic."

She pulled away, just a little, to examine Yang's gaunt features—to take in every contour and just _bask_ in Yang's love. She caught a glimpse of Pyrrha at the edge of her vision, watching from afar: fondness and exasperation and a sliver of longing quickly squashed behind a mask of polite indifference.

It struck her then—how utterly unfair it must be to watch them reconcile, and not be a part of that. Blake tugged Yang off the armchair and dragged them both into the much larger couch. It was hard—trying to separate her tangled emotions. If she could just accept everything at face value then perhaps things would be cleaner somehow. Less confusing. But Blake had always been a jealous creature. It would take more than a day's conversation to unravel how she felt and re-weave everything back together—accept that there was room enough for both of them in Yang's heart.

But perhaps, for now, this would do.

She rested a hand on Yang's abdomen and met Pyrrha's gaze, essaying a smile. There was a scar there—a physical reminder that she had hurt Yang not too long ago.

If Yang could forgive so easily, then surely making her peace with Pyrrha was not an impossible task. She wanted to do better—because they _deserved_ better. For the sake of Pyrrha, who looked apologetic even now, holding Yang's hand as if it was the most precious thing in the world. _I have no place here,_ she seemed to say. And for Yang, wonder and disbelief barely concealed behind tender, rust-red eyes. _This can't be real._

Oh, to take their fears and insecurities away, and build them a home out of love—a safe place. Here in her arms they could finally settle down. They could finally stop running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake was quoting Zanja from _Fire Logic_ by Laurie Marks which also featured a queer lady with an addiction.


	5. Chapter 5

The kids were playing dodgeball today.

Aura flared across the field like the scintillating surface of a lake. There was tiny, grim-faced Dove, absorbing the momentum of the ball with hands that glowed, bright-eyed Ash, whose curve balls moved at unpredictable angles, and Garnet, awkwardly tall but sharp and book smart, who kept the balls off the smaller kids with subtle nudges from her Aura. They were a rowdy bunch—a smart bunch—and they took to Yang's lessons like fish to the water.

It wasn't the kind of life that Yang, age sixteen, had envisioned for herself, but it was better than what she could ever hope for, ten years later.

"That's enough for today, kiddos," she said, pitching her voice across the field. "Wouldn't want to be late for Scarlatina's class now, would you?"

"No, Yang," they chorused. She watched them scramble for the foam balls scattered on the grass and grinned. It was a nice feeling, out in this open space with the sun pressing gently against her skin, her heart light and untroubled.

"Yang."

She perked up at the sight of her younger sister, waiting nearby, wearing something other than her work clothes for a change. "The dress looks great on you," she said, giving her sister a bear hug.

"Weiss insisted." Ruby rolled her eyes. "Ready to go?"

"Let me just put these away," she said, nodding at the mesh bags filled with foam balls. "I'll lock up the gym and meet you out in the back."

Ruby gave her a short salute. "Yessir."

Yang made shooing motions at the last of the stragglers and slung the bags on a shoulder. "And no running in the halls, you hear?" A few snickered. If anyone deserved reprimanding it was Yang; she was the worst offender of them after all.

It was a short trek to the gym. She shoved the bags behind a rack of basketballs and was about to close the lights when she heard footsteps squeaking against the gym floor. "Fuckin' furry," she heard a kid speak and crouched next to the door, peering through the crack. "Smartass freak. Think you're better than all of us innit?"

She recognized the cowering boy immediately: Reed Valentine. He was a fox Faunus, recently transferred to their school. She hadn't heard all of the details just yet regarding his file—the next meeting wasn't until Monday—but she knew just from a glance that whatever his circumstances were, getting bullied on his first day would only make things worse.

"Is there something you'd like to share with the class, boys?" Yang drawled, stepping into the gym, letting her Aura trickle outwards—just enough to frighten them.

"Shit! C'mon, Crim." They tore past her, scrambling for the exit. At the very least, her red eyes were still useful for something.

"Don't come close," Reed said, his voice high with panic. "I don't want to hurt you too."

Well. She hadn't expected that. "What's wrong, kiddo?"

"People"—his face scrunched in a watery frown—"people I care about die when they're around me."

There were probably regulations against touching a child, but right now she didn't give a fucking damn. She engulfed him in a massive bear hug, taking care not to smother his face with her chest. "You are not the problem." It wasn't much of a reassurance, she knew, but he needed to hear the words.

In a whisper, he said, "My dad killed himself."

The words struck, shattering her grip of reality—a memory of another time and another place, dulling her senses, spilling into her mindscape like a force of nature that could not be stopped.

There was a frenzied tattoo in her chest, her heart like a war drum beating harshly against her ears. She was angry, she realized—and it wasn't the kind that she was familiar with. This was an anger so much more wild and violent, the terror in her mind consumed by an overwhelming desire to _destroy_. There was a man staring back at her, face empty of life, and suddenly, the white-hot burn of blood on her skin was too much. She'd long since lost her sense of the present, clarity dimmed next to the inferno of rage inside her chest. She wanted—

To die. Desperation clawed against her ribcage—the monster of her nightmares more potent than even the Grimm. She had done. So many terrible things. (Eyes squeezed shut, hands seeking for life—for warmth, and some kind of reassurance that she was still wanted. It was Blake's skin against hers when her eyes were closed. And Pyrrha's when she opened them again.) _I will bury that guilt when I die. Once I die._ A recurring thought. One that chased—

Her down, down, down into an endless expanse of darkness. She drowned in that emptiness: a preferable alternative to the constant warring between misery and rage. She—

Caught a glimpse of red hair, and fox ears drawn back. Pyrrha. Blake. And just like that she was back in the present, tethered to the _here_ and _now_ by the bonds of the very people she swore never to hurt again.

She eased out of the impromptu hug and looked at the boy shivering before her, where the ghost-impression of another body stood, staring back with tired violet eyes.

"There are days when all I could think about was dying." It hurt to speak, but she forged on. "It's a feeling that never really goes away but. When it does come, I fight." She rested a calloused hand on his head. "Your dad must have fought too—fought as hard as he could to stay with you."

"Then why is he dead?" His words twisted the knife of guilt still buried in her chest.

"I don't know." The admission hurt, but so did lying to this boy who looked as miserable as she felt. "I didn't know your father, and I'm not going to pretend that I understood how he felt, because it's different for everyone, you know? It just _happens_ sometimes. And you have to keep moving forward because if you stop, everything stops." She met his gaze and tried to muster what strength she could. _I'm here for you,_ she wanted to say. _Things will get better._ But they were empty words. In the end, all she could say was, "That's what I'm scared of the most."

"Stopping?" he asked, tone solemn.

"Stopping."

* * *

She found the courage to speak after the dishes had been stored away, the excess food left cooling in the kitchen counter. The words spilled, slowly at first and then all at once. About Reed. About her fears. It left her a tongue-tied mess but. She had to tell them. She owed them that much.

"C'mere," Blake murmured, pulling her close, with Pyrrha taking her left side. Ruby was the next to join in, flopping on top of all of them, while Weiss took the armchair nearby, an indulgent smile quickly gone from her sharp features.

It was nice—this feeling of solidarity. The ache in her chest was not something that could be so easily fixed with the right words. But this was a kind of healing too.

"I wish I could have done better for him," she admitted, her cheek pressed against Blake's shoulder. "But I'm not"— _all fixed_ —"I wasn't sure how. And I hate lying."

"Hey, hey." Ruby snuggled closer. "You tried. That's gotta count for something, yeah?"

"And you've told his counsellor about his emotional wellbeing." Weiss smiled a little smugly. "I did say you'd make a good teacher, Yang."

"Because I tried?"

"Because you care," Pyrrha said firmly, her presence a kind of reassurance that went beyond words. If anyone knew the monsters that Yang had faced before, it would be her. "And sometimes, that's all anyone needs."

Blake gave her a slow, chaste kiss that burned against her chest. (Dusts, but Blake was too damned good at pushing her buttons.) "If you want to help him, then we help him together." Yang recognized the fierceness in those amber eyes. _Let us help. Please._ "That's what family is for, right?"

"Right."

Here, surrounded by the people she loved, she was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always meant to be a love letter of sorts to people who struggle with depression. It's a bit cheesy but. Well. We all deserve a bit of fluff in our lives, yeah?
> 
> Also, they totally end up adopting Reed in the future. I just didn't want to rush it because I think that it would have been too soon. Reed and Yang need to both get accustomed to each other first. Maybe heal a little.
> 
> My next fic will hopefully be more action-packed. I dunno. We'll see. (ง •̀_•́)ง


End file.
